


heretic

by churchish



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Consensual, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Enemies, Frottage, Hate Sex, M/M, Minor Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Oh wait, Public Blow Jobs, Spit Kink, Spoilers, i am disgusting you're welcome, i guess, it's not too too bad but like, like Lautrec doesn't kill Anastasia after the second bell is rung, not even kidding these two are messed up, off screen but it's worth mentioning, there's not really sex per se buuuuut, yeah i went there, yes im projecting what of it, yknow heed the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchish/pseuds/churchish
Summary: Rescuing the Carimian knight was a last-minute decision. Not leaving him to rot was Seijirō's biggest blunder, but he couldn't take it back now.
Relationships: Anastacia of Astora & Chosen Undead, Chosen Undead/Lautrec of Carim
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i'm nasty, i know. 
> 
> if you want to read up on my chosen undead, seijirō, then the means to do so are in the second chapter! all it is is a character sheet i came up with - it's not necessary to read and understand this fic, however.
> 
> as for why i made this........... there isn't enough asshole/asshole content out there to keep me satiated. so, here i am. here you are. if you want more or whatever, leave a comment to let me know! i might be open to requests if there are any. 
> 
> mwah ily thank you for reading<3

He didn't trust him. And, quite frankly, he didn't want to.

Despite the soft face that had garnered a few unwelcome remarks in his past life, Seijirō was a sharp man - his trust was a hard thing to win and an even harder thing to keep. Needless to say, the feeling in his stomach led him to believe he could not trust the man.

Lautrec was the name he had supplied Seijirō when he was finally freed from his rust-eaten prison. A Knight of Carim, he had announced with an air of pride. Mounting distaste aside, he knew knights were like that - proud, pompous, and all things in between. Such behaviors were expected from someone of his station, but the Carimian's unfortunate presentation rankled. 

A scoff stuck in the back of his throat upon the memory of their first fated meeting. He had nearly left the other man there to rot. It was only after he walked out of the room and of earshot of the caustic remarks the knight barked in bewildered retaliation that he stopped to reconsider. Like a shadow, he had pinned himself silently against the wall, next to but out of view of the door he had kicked in to gain entrance. That was when he heard the soft plea.

Seijirō was a lot of things, but he was not needlessly cruel.

The next time he stumbled upon Lautrec, he colored himself surprised. The knight had promised a reward in return for his freedom, but he was hard-pressed to think the pledge was anything other than an empty promise - a last-ditch barter of an otherwise dead man walking. Regardless, Seijirō had found a peculiar soul in the church belonging to the Parish and was on his way to see the Keeper under Firelink. He had looted it from the rotting corpse of an offering, and its cool pulsing intensified the closer he came to the base of the shrine. It was there he was met with the ostentatious gleam of gilded armor. 

His brows slid further over his obsidian eyes. Exhaustion already played on his hair-thin patience, and the coming encounter was undoubtedly going to rob him of the last of his tolerance.

The knight turned his helm from the Keeper’s bars to the newcomer. Seijirō disregarded the expectant weight of the man’s gaze as he made way to the cell. He knew many people visited the shrine, it made sense to him why the Carimian was here. It didn't, however, make his thorny presence any less grating.

Sejiirō idly watched the demure woman turn 'round, small hands clutching both the jade bottle and soul close to her frame. Her face was partially obscured with the headpiece she donned, but the expression he could see was still more or less puzzling.

"Planning on greeting me? Or is that too much social interaction for you?"

Seijirō clenched his teeth until he felt their combined pressure in his skull.

"Or maybe you just prefer the mute," Lautrec continued, undeterred by the silence.

"She can still _hear_ you just fine,” he cut in. 

"I am aware." 

_Smug bastard._

Feeling a soft tug on the cloth of his leg, Seijirō turned to see a frail hand extended through the bars. His flask was cradled between the meat of her thumb and forefinger, and it clinked gently against the metal as she waited. The grass brushed his knee when he kneeled to tuck the flask away. She refused payment, so all he could offer her was a bow and a whispered _thank you_.

The sound of the other man starting up again had his eyes rolling hard enough to see crackling nebulas behind his lids.

"Ah," the knight sneered, "How endearing. You should have been a knight - you appear to have a knack for being ever so chivalrous." 

Lautrec rolled his neck lightly, letting the side of his helm clunk dully on his pauldron. "Well, except when it comes to me, apparently; you nearly left me to hollow away in that _cell_."

The small exhalation of breath that slipped in his amusement was not something Seijirō could help.

"If you aren't grateful for your freedom, I can always help the guards in the Parish and put you back where you belong.”

"The _nerve_ ," Lautrec spat. "And here I thought I was going to give you this." A medal suddenly appeared between his golden fingers. "But, I suppose not."

He laughed in earnest.

"You think I have use for silly trinkets?" Seijirō shot. "You're mistaken if you've taken me as sentimental." 

"You are correct," the knight agreed. "I was mistaken to believe you anything but an empty-headed _barbarian_." 

He watched Lautrec stand up from his indented spot on the grass. Lightning sparked in his teeth, and any ounce of humor he once held vanished, not unlike the sun within an unexpected typhoon.

"These medals,” the knight spoke slowly as if he were explaining something complex to a daft child, “have _value_ , though just by looking at you, I can see you have no use for them. You lack any semblance of faith." The last part was spat like the knight had something particularly foul in his mouth. Like Seijirō was something foul.

That intimately familiar feeling of murderous intent washed over Seijirō, and in an instant, he knew he wanted to kill the man.

"I'd rather have no faith than be anything like you.” His tongue was slathered in venom, and his tone dripped in it. “From this conversation alone I can see that you are nothing but a dogged slave to yours."

Suddenly, Lautrec was in front of him. Seijirō felt elation at how the smaller man had to crane his neck to reach his gaze. Truly, it would take nothing to kick the grunt over the edge of the shrine if it came to it. That, however, would be an absolute waste; he wanted to savor his death.

"I receive nothing but love from my faith," the knight continued. "You cannot hope to ever say the same."

"I guess I cannot." The man ground his teeth in a rictus. "I have no ties; no useless binds to hold me. I am beholden to no god."

Lautrec's chest piece was ice on his chest through the threadbare tunic clinging dispassionately to his frame.

"You speak of faith like a heretic," the knight hissed in disbelief as his hands thumbed the hilts of his shotels. "Your lack of propriety and civility will grant you naught but ill will from all those who have the misfortune of encountering you."

A frosty laugh tumbled from Seijirō, freshly stripped of any once-beholden niceties.

"And yet, what of you?" he pressed. 

"What?" Lautrec froze, confusion radiating through the seams of his golden armor.

Seijirō walked the knight up against the crumbling wall. "You seem to have me figured out so well. What of you? You fill me with unease, and your motives remain unclear." 

He closed a hand around the smaller man's leather-clad neck before impelling his hold against the stone. Lautrec’s helm rebounded off the wall, and the ring of metal graced his ears like a melody. His large frame bracketed the sod in, and Sejiirō used whatever intimidation factor he had to plunge a threat deep into Lautrec’s brain. 

"If you so much as _breathe_ wrong, I will kill you." His mouth was close enough to the helm that condensation formed along its surface with every syllable. "It will not be quick, and I promise, I will revel in every second."

With another shove, he released his grip and backed away. Lautrec was still pinned, not unlike a dead moth, against the stone. Seijirō could not tell if he was breathing, and he felt delirious with the satisfaction that came from terrifying the Carimian. 

"Stay away from her," the dark-haired man pointed to the Keeper as he walked toward the spiral staircase.

Lautrec obeyed.

-

Some time had passed since he last saw Lautrec. Exactly how _much_ remained to be seen. Time in Lordran was, in fact, not at all relative. Everything shifted and obscured, with heroes centuries old fading in and out at whim. He had not met too many heroes on his travels, but that was what he had been told, anyhow.

Seijirō obtained another soul that had belonged to a Fire Keeper in Blighttown. Unlike its sister, this one pulsed warmly in his pouch, and like most things, he knew he would never understand why.

Traveling from the squalor of Blighttown to the shrine was arduous and much too long for his liking. That was until he had found the New Londo Ruins gate key; the shortcut led right into the base of the Firelink, and the prospect of cutting the journey down sizably had him weak in the knees.

Even so, he was the epitome of filth from his latest scourge. As the elevator climbed dutifully upwards, the man tried his best to wipe the grime from his chest. Slime from the swamp and viscera from an unknown origin covered it to the point the tunic’s actual color was no longer discernible. The elevator lurched to a stop, and Seijirō wagered he was about as clean as he could get without an actual bath.

Much like the time before, the Fire Keeper did not speak as she took the flask and soul from his pouch. Though, to his surprise, the tacky knight no longer sat across from her cell. Wondering where the man might have gone, he felt a pull on his trousers. He offered her a grateful bow before descending up the steps that curved around the base of the shrine. The bonfire crackled somberly in the middle of the courtyard, and the wayward warrior in chainmail sat miserably on his bench. 

On his way to Petrus, that damnable gilded gleam caught his eye. The knight stood in the old chapel of the shrine, its pool of water clinging to the backs of his sabatons, threatening rust the longer he stayed fixated there.

A rhythmic rumbling noise shook the ground as he made the way to Lautrec, and his frown deepened in wonderment.

"What _is_ that?" Lautrec pondered aloud. Irritation threaded his tone in a most voracious way, and Seijirō felt joyed to hear it.

"It sounds like snoring," the dark-haired man supplied. 

He stopped at the edge of the eroded stone and watched the water slosh up the other man’s greaves as he startled. Lautrec’s armor rattled when he turned to face him with a hand settled instinctively on a shotel. Upon seeing the intruder, his posture did not relax. He even moved for the shotel’s twin but was smart enough to not draw.

"So, the heretic makes an appearance," he sneered. "I thought you were dead." 

Seijirō crossed his arms. "No. Still alive, to your apparent dismay."

The knight scoffed inside his helm.

"I heard someone felled that deformed abomination in the Depths. Was that you?" 

"The dragon with the gaping maw?" He gestured vaguely around his mouth. "Yes, it was me."

Lautrec released the iron grip on his shotels in favor of putting his hands on his hips. His posture shifted, effectively bracing his weight on his left leg in a cockeyed manner. 

"Well, _well_ , our own little hero," the Carimian jibed. "Bravo." 

“As if,” Seijirō retorted with a snort. He continued as an afterthought, "I saw your summoning sign. I nearly hailed upon you, but I decided to go with the other. Solaire, I believe." 

" _That_ jolly buffoon? Keh, I'm even more astonished to see you made it out alive." 

If he didn’t know any better, Seijirō would have thought the noble knight was offended that he chose the Sunlight Warrior over him. A moment passed, and as all bad things do, an idea filtered into his mind and shifted his mouth into a mirth-ridden rictus.

"Yes, we both made it out very much alive," Seijirō hummed as he began his descent into the small pool of water. "And, _unlike_ you, he rewarded me handsomely for our victory."

"Heh," Lautrec laughed as if someone told a joke only he understood. "I thought you had no use for medals? What did you say…? Oh, yes, you're not ' _sentimental_."

“Well, now you are not completely wrong in that.” His head loomed far above the gilded helm as he closed the distance between them. "While yes, I have no use for those - as you so studiously pointed out - what I received was no simple medallion." 

The knight cocked his helm.

"Souls, then? What common currency, truly befitting of a…" Lautrec trailed off, voice slowly becoming far away. A minute passed, then another.

He stopped and started, "You- he rewarded-" 

Seijirō's amused snort ricocheted dully against the chapel walls. "He was, ah, very enthused. Though, in all honesty," he hovered his mouth over where the man's ear ought to be under the metal, " _I_ was actually paying _him_." 

He went to drag his finger through the condensation that accumulated on the helm from his breath, but Lautrec drew both of his shotels in the span of a second and had them a hair's breadth away from Seijirō's throat.

"Do you think this is a game," the knight snarled, voice hushed despite it only being the two of them in the chapel.

"No," the larger man answered earnestly.

He pushed his finger to move the blade, and the shotels advanced by a millimeter. Seijirō felt the telltale trickle of blood run down the column of his throat. A growing warmness coiled in his stomach before tendriling down into his groin. Lautrec pressed harder and Seijiro felt his length jerk in his trousers. A small groan escaped the back of his throat, against his behest.

The knight pushed in disbelief, "Are you that perverse to get enjoyment out of this?" 

Seijirō grimaced under half-lidded eyes.

"You called me a heretic. Would it be so shocking for you to make another _astute_ assumption about me and have it be correct?"

He could hear the smaller man narrow his eyes under the helm.

"I could slice your throat open, right now, and without a second thought."

A pulse of heat darted through his groin again. He couldn't believe he was throbbing in his pants at the idea of being cut open like a stuck swine. Maybe Lautrec was correct; perhaps heresy thrummed sweetly in his veins, potent and copper-tinged like the fire eating his marrow from the inside out. 

Seijirō licked his lips, their cracks pulling on the underside of his tongue.

"Do it then," he challenged. "If you're so capable."

And in a breath, he was outside the chapel by the bonfire, body drenched in sweat. It took him a moment too long to realize that the slick in his pants wasn’t the slime from Blighttown.

-

Seeing the shrine again after so long was a welcome sight. His muscles were sore, his disposition bitter; Seijirō had been doing some digging around Lordran but, regrettably, had yet to progress. 

A fortnight ago - though how could he be certain of that - he had taken care of the Chaos Witch lingering at the base of Blighttown. She was an exquisite abomination, a vile virtue of true beauty. The victory was unfulfilling as it was short-lived. He had stumbled upon another mutated witch near the second Bell of Awakening, and her death was not something he found enjoyment in; she was sick, and it was a mercy. 

He traversed through the shortcut from New Londo to the foundation of the shrine, the Keeper’s scorching soul burning a hole through his pouch all the while. Seijirō curled up the spiral staircase and took note of a missing figure.

The Fire Keeper gently turned from his gaze as she began the process of transmuting the soul into the jade flask. His back pressed against the cell’s bars, and the scabbard strapped to his frame jutted uncomfortably against his spine. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon him, and the warm hand that graced his shoulder shook him from a light sleep. He bowed as he left and made his way up the second case of steps. The chainmail-clad warrior was on his bench, head leaned against the cool stone in repose, and the gilded Carimian sat by the healing embers of the bonfire in his characteristic posture. 

Irritation and something indecipherable laced Seijirō’s gums at the image. He brushed past the knight, intent on going to the blacksmith’s bonfire in the Parish until he felt a hard hand grasp his calf. 

“Why, not even a ‘ _hello_ ’ for a friend,” Lautrec cooed coldly under his helm. “Rude as ever.” 

Seijirō stopped. His fingers felt numb with sudden, novel rage, and his body morphed into something taut like a hair-trigger.

“Unhand me,” he growled. His voice was low, rumbling in his chest like a vengeful storm. 

The hand did not move, but neither did Seijirō. 

He pulled his knee back and nailed the knight squarely in the helm. Relishing in the litany of curses that escaped the smaller man, he noted the dent in the metal. It was merely a dimple on the holed surface, but the imperfection gifted his face with a merciless grin. 

Lautrec was hunched over on the ground, hands fiddling with the leather straps that kept the helm locked to his armor. 

“ _-Heretic, you foul thing, I cannot believe-_ ” 

Seijirō’s fist collided with the other side of the helm, and its metal crumpled like a piece of brittle parchment under the force. It popped off the man’s head with a resolute snap, and before Lautrec could retaliate, the dark-haired man had a hand clasped around the knight’s neck. The man flailed in his grip as Seijirō dragged him by the column of his throat. Blood streamed unfettered from his nose and into his angry, open mouth.

Petrus was nowhere to be seen, so he threw the gilded Carimian up against the stone wall of the second courtyard. The scrape of metal against rough stone was ariose in quality, and Seijirō felt that intimate warmth pool in his groin at watching Lautrec vainly attempt to remove the rather large hand from his neck.

Seijirō calmly brushed Lautrec’s silver hair aside with his free hand and hovered his mouth over the other man’s ear. He managed to lick his fissured lips before a grin splintered them even further.

“I do believe you still owe me a reward.” 

Lautrec continued to thrash in his grip, movements abhorrently raucous.

“I owe you nothing, you _despicable_ -”

“Ah,” Seijirō cut him off. “No, no, I freed you, _remember_?” He pressed his frame against the smaller, armored body in front of him.

The knight stilled his incessant shifting.

“If I recall correctly,” Seijirō pressed harder, “you begged me for your freedom.” 

Lautrec’s face was a monument to disgust, but he could see through it. Desire puddled inside his eyes, and a hollow sneer shattered the mortified expression. 

“You do not scare me, _heretic_ ,” the knight choked out.

His teeth gleamed like a demon’s in the low light. 

“Oh, you’ve misunderstood me again.” He increased the pressure on Lautrec’s throat and felt his length pulse at the groan of pain that escaped the man. “My intent is not to scare you.”

The gilded man’s strangled laugh saturated the air in an empty way.

“No?” he questioned. “Then what _is_ your intent?” His head lolled mockingly in his grip.

Seijirō’s mouth puffed against Lautrec’s as he slowly ground his cock against the thigh of his golden greaves. The knight's eyes grew wide before they narrowed. An insufferable smirk pulled at his lips.

“Keh, and you say _my_ intentions are unclea-”

Seijirō slammed his mouth onto the knight’s, if only to shut him up. He was going to kill the man if he continued talking. He was going to kill him regardless.

He panted into Lautrec’s mouth as his hips gyrated against his thigh. The smaller man groaned in the back of his throat and slipped his tongue into Seijirō’s willing mouth. 

Heat coursed under his skin, bubbling and baking him alive. Lautrec was cold everywhere, freezing in every fathomable way, but his mouth was blistering against his own. Spit collected between them, and the silver-haired man licked at Seijirō’s teeth as he swallowed it down. 

“You’re disgusting,” the Carimian snorted into the wet cavern of Seijirō’s mouth. 

Lautrec’s hand tangled itself to the root of his hair, and the larger man groaned when the knight ripped his head back; he tattooed a necklace of teeth into the column of the throat above him and reveled in the way Seijirō rutted against his leg like a common animal. 

He felt the knight suck the skin of his shoulder into his mouth and roll it between his teeth, and nearly lost it. He released the neck in his palm and hastily ran his hands down the plated frame in front of him. Brushing aside the beads that covered the codpiece, his cock pulsed painfully inside his pants. There was no metal covering there, only hard leather.

“Oh, Gods,” he groaned under his breath as he went to work. 

Lautrec’s moan vibrated against his neck, and he felt another pair of hands next to his, pulling at buckles and straps that barred their entry.

Blood still trickled from the knight’s nose, and Seijirō felt a spot of slick coat the inside of his pants as he laved at the viscera on Lautrec’s lips. The copper taste pervaded his buds as the crimson tainted his teeth a dull pink. Spit trailed down both of their chins, and Seijiro boxed the man further into the wall once he felt the leather vanish. Lautrec’s cock was boiling, and the knight whimpered into Seijirō’s neck upon feeling freezing fingers slide down his shaft. 

“ _Heretic_ ,” the knight griped before shoving his metal hands into Seijirō’s trousers. 

The man jumped at the sensation against his bare groin but cried out once he felt Lautrec’s weeping head brush his own. Their combined share of slick kept them willing against each other as Seijirō hurried him into the wall. 

The knight keened into his mouth and bit down on his lip in the most taciturn display of body language. Lautrec was close, but so was he, all he needed was-

Seijirō demanded, breathless, “Hurt me.” 

Lautrec chuckled at how it sounded more like a plea than anything else. He pulled back and ground his hips hard enough that he saw sparks behind his eyes. The knight unsheathed a shotel from his hip and settled it against the man’s throat, and his length fluttered at the kiss of cool metal. The blade pressed harder into his skin, and Seijirō's eyes rolled into the back of his head. 

“Please,” Seijirō growled and bucked.

Lautrec advanced by another centimeter and blood began to dribble serenely down the curves of his arched throat.

“How perverse,” the silver-haired man taunted with a particularly brutal thrust.

Leaning in, he placed his head below the blade upon Seijirō’s throat. Lautrec’s tongue drug itself through the current of blood before he closed his lips around the man’s Adam's apple. Crimson flowed into his mouth, and he came with an unexpected shout. 

Seijirō felt the smaller man writhe on him as he imbibed himself off his neck, and the spatter of seed that dribbled down his shaft had him twitching. It was too much.

He crowded the armored knight against the wall as he chased his own wave. Seijirō’s teeth clenched inside his head and he drove himself onto the blade held to his throat. Come spurted from his length as the pain caressed that heretical pit inside of him - it alone was enough to leave him a shivering mess. 

Seconds passed with only the squawking of the crow and their mingled breaths for company. Seijirō’s heart eventually stopped slamming in his throat, and Lautrec’s characteristic sneer returned to his sweat-dampened face. His teeth were stained that beautiful salmon he was coming to enjoy too much. 

As the knight’s mouth opened, Seijirō clamped his hand over the bottom half of his face. 

“It seems you’ve made quite a mess of things,” the dark-haired man warbled through the glow. 

Though his gaze was glazed-over, Lautrec's eyes managed to peer down at where their hips were still glued together.

"And while I know you just love running that little mouth of yours-” he squeezed his hand, “-I believe there are better uses for it.”

Seijirō released the man and took delight in the dull thunk of his skull hitting the stone. 

The Carimian scoffed at the air. “You really think I would-”

A large hand was suddenly on the knight’s shoulder. Seijirō pushed him down to the ground before cupping the hand behind his head. Lautrec’s hands latched onto his thighs for balance as his face was jutted onto the man’s groin. 

“I wasn’t asking.”


	2. chosen undead reference sheet: seijirō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started a new run of this game two days ago, and of course, I'm having a blast. i wanted to create a character that wasn't completely morally gray, but wasn't completely honorable, either. hopefully, i encapsulated that in some way. thank you for reading!!

**Name:** Seijirō/Seiji

 **Pronouns:** He/Him

 **Sexuality:** Assholes <3 (jkjk, he’s bi <33)

 **Class (in-game):** Deprived 

**Appearance:**  
\- Shoulder-length black hair (it’s a mess)  
\- Tall. Like, you know how everyone in this game is always 100x larger than the chosen undead? This isn’t that story; he's _huge_.  
\- Built to last - muscular, but it a utilitarian way, not so much for show.  
\- Has a very large, blackening scar on his midsection from being run through with a shortsword (his “true” death).  
\- He has softer features (there aren’t many angular planes in his face). Thicker brows set over his obsidian eyes; a strong nose runs down the bridge of his face.  
\- Stubble <3

 **Age:** _Roughly_ 40, but he stopped aging at 27 when he “died” in his last battle. (I have a hc that undead don’t age.)

 **Favorite Color:** Orange (sunset orange - pastel-y)

 **Personality Traits:**  
\- Paranoid. See ‘ _calculating_ ’.  
\- Calculating. He doesn’t scheme, but he’s always gnawing on outcomes in his head subconsciously.  
\- Loyal. While one of his better traits, it enables him to grow fond of those he cares for; often, he grows too dependent, and the number of times he’s been burned by the lack of a clear boundary has made him untrusting.  
\- Stubborn. Seijirō will not do anything unless it’s his idea, and changing his mind is near impossible.  
\- Strong (mentally as well as physically). He had to shoulder his emotions for his siblings (see ‘ _lore_ ’), and he never went back to being vulnerable. Upon first glance, many assume him to be infallible and unfeeling.  
\- Acts like an angsty teenager (yes, that’s happen _ing_ ).  
\- Has a noticeable soft spot for women. See ‘ _lore_ ’.  
\- 60% sadist, 40% masochist. You know what I'm about. 

**Likes:**  
\- Pain (receiving/inflicting).  
\- The Firelink Fire Keeper, Solaire of Astora, and Domhnall of Zena.  
\- Halberds and various two-handed weapons. He is known to favor claymores.  
\- Seijirō prefers to be light on his feet, and dons only trousers lined with shin and thigh guards, wearable wrapping to protect his feet (it also permits him to be silent when need be), and a threadbare, blue tunic.  
\- While he cannot remember them (see ‘ _lore_ ’), he loves his younger brother and two sisters.

 **Dislikes:**  
\- Lautrec. ;]  
\- Ulterior motives/angles.  
\- Liars.  
\- He does not get along with a great many people; most view him as wrathful and uncivil. As a result, he has more than a few enemies.  
\- Absolutely _loathes_ the entirety of New Londo. Seeing the remains of the drowned victims at the bottom of the area fills him with a long-lost feeling of remorse he cannot parse. And, being a superstitious man, the ghosts fill him with worming dread and fear.  
\- Seijirō can’t stand religious zealots, which is unfortunate considering the surplus of them in Lordran.  
\- The Gods. In particular, he is quite bitter towards Lord Gwyn.

 **Lore/Backstory:**  
\- After his father’s death, Seijirō’s mother spiraled; she became emotionally unavailable and was nothing but a shadow of her former self. This left him to care for his brother and two sisters at 18 years of age. He tended to his mother as best he could, but as time progressed and her state worsened, he found himself growing resentful.  
\- Two years had passed, and his mother was wasting away. He swiftly ended her life; he considered it a mercy if nothing else. He’s not sure if had imagined it, but he thought he felt the brush of her hand on his cheek before she succumbed to her death. Seijirō felt no sorrow and did not weep with his siblings at the burial. He never told his siblings what happened with his mother.  
\- Seijirō adored his sisters (only they were allowed to call him that nickname), and it was tradition that he gift them something when he returned from his travels - things like combs, pins, plates and bowls, and jewelry when he could manage.  
\- To his supreme dismay, his brother enlisted into the Silver Knights of Anor Londo a year after their mother’s passing; he was 17. They never saw him again.  
\- His two sisters married young; a regal woman hailing from a faraway township, and a warrior hailing from the East.  
\- After finding odd jobs here and there, Seijirō decided to enlist. He trained in a Knight Academy for four years, and died in his seventh skirmish under Lord Gwyn two years later - he was 27.  
\- Later, he awoke by the regenerative embers of a bonfire and was immediately locked away in an asylum to the north.  
\- Decades passed by Seijirō he rotted away in the cell. Being lost in his mind for all that time caused him to experience patchy amnesia; he can remember the core of who he was but some of his negative qualities have become caricatured due to the memory loss, and the stripping of his remaining humanity.

 **Kingseeker Frampt or Darkstalker Kaathe?**  
Kaathe  
**Save Solaire?**  
Yes, but he complains internally the entire time.  
**Finish Siegmeyer questline?**  
Yes, but also will complain the entire time.  



End file.
